Because Guys Will Be Guys
by mattmetzger
Summary: Five relationship cliches that Jim messed - or 'kirked' - up, and one that runs perfectly. Because Kirks just can't do anything the normal way. K/S.


**Notes: Born out of the epilogue to 'My Name is Jim Kirk' and an assertion that I apparently really 'kirked it up.' (You will understand when we get there.) But 'to kirk something up' is now officially a phrase in my world, and to celebrate the expansion of my vocabulary, I went ahead and wrote the proposed five-and-one of Jim 'kirking up' five cliche moments in his relationship, because Kirks just can't do anything the normal way. (And one that he didn't for variety.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009, and I make no profit from this work.**

* * *

><p><strong>Asking Out<strong>

"Oh great," Jim breathed, and winced when he felt the hot air bounce back off Spock's cheek. "Um. Sorry."

"No apology is necessary, Captain."

"Yeah, yeah, they're illogical, I get it," Jim muttered, listening intently. "This is fucking embarrassing."

"...Indeed." That was totally Spockese for 'if you say so' but that would be far too casual to just _say_. What kind of Standard did they _teach _on Vulcan? Spock's Mom must have been an encyclopaedia.

Negotiations had gone somewhat sour when the Trelactea (who were as tentacle-covered as they sounded and there was just no _way _that tentacles were sexy - they were just fucking gross) had decided that, actually, an alliance with the Federation wasn't a great idea and they'd be better off just eating these pink fleshy things in brightly-coloured wrappers.

Cue a mass scattering of Jim's people and frantic orders to beam everyone out _right now_.

Problem is, there'd been upward of twenty-five people on the surface, and the transporters were having difficulty getting back more than one person at a time through the admittedly chaotic atmosphere. Of course. Because transporters never had an issue when Jim didn't actually _need _them.

Fuck technology. Fuck _space_. He should have just stayed home in Iowa and raised goats for a living. Instead, he was jammed into what seemed to be an alien store cupboard, in a parody of the world's worst joke, pressed toe-to-face with his First Officer and breathing all over his face.

His very attractive, very sexy, very intelligent, very powerful First Officer. Who could, and probably would, break his neck with a single snap of the wrist if he figured out that Jim wanted nothing more than to pin him down over the nearest flat surface and fuck him stupid.

"The nearest flat surface happens to be this wall, Captain."

_OH FUCK._

"Oh shiiiiiiit. Um. Feel free to ignore anything and everything my brain comes out with."

"Typically, I do; however, your genitalia do not usually factor into such circumstances."

Which was right about when Jim realised he was half-hard. Not drill-your-way-through-concrete hard - and without some stimulation, not even fuck-ready hard, but still hard enough that he was pressing his dick noticeably into Spock's crotch.

"Okay. I'm just...going to die of embarrassment right about now," Jim mumbled.

There was nowhere to _go_. He couldn't get his dick _out _of Spock's crotch, and just thinking about it was giving his libido (traitorous, _bastard _libido!) what it needed to boost that half-hard interest into a full-on, let's-get-grinding erection. The alternative was get out of the cupboard again (oh God, bad jokes, bad jokes!) and get slaughtered and eaten by marauding tentacle aliens.

Great. Jim Kirk was about to die coming out of the closet.

"I would not recommend that course of action, sir."

"Oh yeah, of course not. _Spock_. I am going to start _humping _you if my libido takes over any more of my bodily functions! I am not stupid! Humping Vulcans gets people killed!"

"I will refrain from killing you, Captain. And I am not entirely sure that you have the room to move at all, regardless of your sexual instincts."

Jim snorted. "Oh, just admit it, Spock. You wouldn't mind if I started humping you."

"Very well, Captain: I would not mind if you were to succumb to your sexual instincts in my presence."

There was a short, short silence.

"Um. Spock?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Aren't Vulcans into monogamy and shit?"

"Yes, Captain."

"So...a one-night stand isn't your thing?"

"No, Captain."

"Okay. In which case, want to go out with me sometime?"

"Yes, Jim."

"Awesome. C'mere."

They were beamed back aboard intact and wrapped around each other, and still kissing. Jim was, thankfully, not humping anything - but Scotty _still _won a hundred credits from the betting pool.

* * *

><p><strong>Informing Others<strong>

"Sickbay's condom supplies are depleting twice as fast as usual."

Jim gritted his teeth.

"I heard the Commander refused to sit down for his entire shift yesterday."

Dear _God_, did people _really _notice these things?

"Well, _I_ heard from Yeoman Perry that the Captain hasn't been back to his quarters in three days!"

Everywhere he went, for the past eight weeks, there had been people gossiping...

"I heard Lieutenant Uhura is going to transfer. It can't be easy seeing your ex move on like that."

...about his relationship with Spock.

"I heard the Commander's been disowned by his family for it!"

He had played it by the book this time! He had filed a report for the Admiralty, and agreed to have an independent review into the situation, and even agreed to the hastily-rigged interrogation where they tried to prove he'd blackmailed Spock into it. He'd told the command crew _and _the doctor (and hadn't that been a pretty conversation) to avoid any awkward accusations.

"Personally, I think the Captain's coerced him into it, somehow. Mr. Spock wouldn't do a thing like this _willingly_."

He just hadn't banked on ship's gossip.

"Captain on the bridge!"

"At ease," he snapped, making a beeline for the chair, and the blessed ship-wide intercom that accompanied it. "This is Captain Kirk speaking. I would like to extend an invitation to all crewmembers to kindly _stop _gossiping about the relationship between myself and Commander Spock. Yes, we are knocking boots; no, nobody coerced anybody else, and for the love of whatever you believe in, _there is no big conspiracy theory_. Thank you."

"Spock's going to kill you when he gets here," Sulu said casually, while the rest of the bridge crew simply gaped at Jim.

"You shittin' me?" Jim grumped. "He's the one that told me to do it!"

* * *

><p><strong>Proposing<strong>

"Okay. So, this is _not _the best situation in which I've ever found myself."

"I believe...that is an understatement, Captain."

"Oh, stop fucking talking. I don't need Bones to tell me that's a shitty idea when you've got a goddamn _spear _sticking out of your chest. Hey. _Hey! _That doesn't mean pass out!"

"My...apologies..."

"God, you can be such a dick sometimes. What was_ that_? Spock, did you just _laugh _at me?"

"A...af-firmative."

"What did I say about talking? Add laughing to the list. Christ - Kirk to_ Enterprise_, for the love of _God_ will somebody come in! Come _on_, Scotty, I've got a dying man down here!"

"I...I am not..."

"Spock, you've got a motherfucking spear in the middle of your fucking _lungs_, so don't you start arguing diagnoses with me or you're on the couch for a _year_, got it?"

"I...I was...I was about to say that I...am not a _man_, Captain..."

"Okay, fair point, dying Vulcan then. My bad. _Hey_! Stay focused. Stay with me, c'mon, stay with me. You with me?"

"A-always."

"Bullshit - I nearly lost you for a minute there."

"'Nearly' is n-not..."

"Shut up."

"I..."

"Ah! Shut it! If you die, you don't get laid _ever again_, so bear that in mind and focus on breathing, okay? There you go. That's it, keep 'em steady. Bones is going to kill me, I promise he wouldn't have to deal with your green blood for a whole month."

"My...apologies to the doctor."

"Yeah, I'll pass 'em on. Hey. You going to pass out on me?"

"...Shortly, yes."

"In which case, before you go, will you marry me?"

"...W-what?"

"You heard."

"This is hardly...an appropriate place to..."

"It's plenty appropriate, shut up. Not like you're going anywhere. So? Marry me?"

"...Very well."

"_Awesome_. Because that's a verbal contract and you break that, you're going to Vulcan Hell. So no dying, spear or no spear."

"There...is no Vul..."

"Sure there isn't, whatever. I'd kiss you but you're all bloody and...well. Ew. Hey. _Spock_. C'mon, stay with me. I'm just gonna slap you if you don't, and believe me, _I will slap you hard_."

"I..."

"_Spock_! Spock, come _on, damnit_!"

_"Enterprise to Cap'n Kirk, we're..."_

"Thank _fuck_ - beam us _up_, Scotty, and have a medical team ready! Spock! _Spock_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Marrying<strong>

"That the last of them?" Pike handed the padd back to Commander Spock and shook his head at Kirk's smug grin. "It's favouritism, you know."

"Ah, well," Kirk shrugged. "One more thing." He handed over a small black book, commonly recognised among the senior ranks as the ceremonial book. It was primarily used for funerals, but constitution-class ships with their longer service contracts often had thicker versions with every ceremony imaginable for every society understood that didn't require a priest. (And about half the time, a captain could fill in for a priest.)

"And what am I meant to do with this, Kirk?"

"Marry us," Kirk said, reaching back and taking Spock's hand. Pike's jaw dropped, and Spock didn't look like he'd been recently informed of this either.

"Jim...?"

"Oh come on, why not?" Kirk asked, turning to Spock and shrugging. "If we get married now, then we have three weeks of leave to go hole up in my old apartment and fuck like bunnies. Or even get a hotel somewhere picturesque and fuck like bunnies with a good view."

"How romantic," Pike said dryly.

"But logical," Spock said, with the blink that seemed to be the equivalent of a Vulcan shrug, and they turned to Pike hand in hand.

"C'mon, Chris, you can download one of the certificates like _that_," Kirk snapped his fingers.

"You need witnesses."

"How many?"

"Three."

"_Three_?"

"Vulcan," Pike nodded at Spock. "Three witnesses for any marriage ceremony involving a Vulcan, whether it's actually a Vulcan ceremony or not. And you haven't - Kirk, what the hell are you doing?"

Kirk was marching over to the door, flung it open, and snapped his fingers at three of the cadets waiting in line for Pike's office hours. "You, you, and you. Get in here - five minutes and a signature, and you get ten credits each."

"Oh my God," Pike muttered as three of his freshman year cadets filed in dutifully.

"To be honest, sir, I'm not fussed about the ceremonial speech either," Kirk shrugged.

"Your father is going to kill all of us," Pike said to Spock.

"He can try," came the cool response.

"Alright, alright. Jesus, you're both absolutely mad. Did you even _talk _about this?"

"Hello? Vulcan?" Kirk waved their joined hands at him. "Like I ever need to _talk_."

"Jesus. Alright. Fine. Sign here."

* * *

><p><strong>Starting a Family<strong>

Jim felt, frankly, like shit. Over the course of the last two weeks, he had been throwing up promptly every single morning (and some evenings too) and experiencing the weirdest mood swings of his entire life, up to and including his melodramatic (and in hindsight, very gay) teenage years. And now Bones had gotten back to him with the test results - and this was _not funny_.

And it was all Spock's fault.

Most things were Spock's fault, to be fair. Not proposing how he'd planned? Spock's fault for getting skewered like a kebab. That back-straining sex in a Jeffries tube? Spock's fault for looking so fuckable in the emergency lighting. The complaints from the quartermaster on the sheets consumption? Spock's fault for being fuckable in general. And the less said about Admiral Nogura's heart attack the better.

_This _was right up there with the back-straining. There was just no way on Earth it couldn't be Spock's fault. It wasn't like he'd been sleeping with anyone else!

"Jim?" the doors slid closed behind his First Officer, and Jim patted the bed beside him. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yeah. It's important," Jim crumpled the results in his hands. "Um. So, those spores you've been investigating in the labs the last couple of weeks?"

"From Xenetia II?"

"Yeah, those. Um. Well, they've been coming back in here on your clothes, haven't they?"

"Most likely. When we discovered they posed no threat to any of the species on the _Enterprise_, we did not waste resources and time erecting a quarantine field."

"So...so I've been exposed. When we're, you know, I got them all over me, right?"

"Quite likely, Jim. Is there some problem?"

"Yeah. Yeah, there is. Um. I need you off that project. I mean, I wasn't sure at first, but McCoy's checked it out and he's confirmed it...shit, I don't really know how to say this."

"In Standard would be preferable, as your Vulcan is somewhat atrocious."

"_I'mallergictoyoursporeplants_."

"...You are allergic to them?"

"Yeah."

"I see."

"I'm really sorry, but...but you're going to have to stop working on that project."

"It does not matter, Jim. Your health is of greater importance."

"You're not mad?"

"No. I am somewhat relieved, in fact."

"_Relieved_? What? Why?"

"...I think you should be aware that the nursing staff have begun to circulate a rumour that you are pregnant..."

* * *

><p><strong>Sex<strong>

There was one area of his relationship, however, in which Jim was wholly typical.

The sex.

Oh dear God, the sex.

Whether it was just the whole repression thing, or whether it was the fact that they were at heart a passionate and bloodthirsty race, Vulcans - or at least half-Vulcans - had one hell of a sex drive.

Which Jim had been naturally delighted to discover.

Human men as a whole were not as ready to go as human women seemed to believe - except for Jim Kirk. Jim was perpetually in a state of near-arousal, and something as small as an idle dirty thought could have him hard as a rock in about three seconds. (Which was understandably inconvenient.)

He had been dumped multiple times for needing to start _that _itch too often for his partner's liking - and dumped by guys and girls alike. Discovering Orions had been, for Jim, like discovering God for born-again Christians.

Discovering the Vulcan sex drive had been even _better_.

In the entire four months he'd spent angsting over his attraction to Spock before they got stuck in an alien broom closet together, Jim had given much thought to the fact that Vulcans were sexless creatures and that Spock would absolutely murder him if he strayed - or Jim would break his heart. And even back then, Jim had desperately not wanted to do that.

Turned out he was wrong about the sexless thing.

The minute shift was over after the broom closet fiasco, he had dragged Spock off to his quarters, only to get sucked off at his desk, in the sonic shower, twice in the bed, and once again in the sonic shower. Before the next day's shift, he'd received a hand job that had _completely _redefined 'hand job' for him (and rearranged a fair few neural pathways too) and had been too exhausted, for the very first time, to get an inappropriate hard-on in the vicinity of Yeoman Rand's ass.

Which, judging by the Vulcan not-smirk at lunch, had rather been the point.

And then he'd been taken back to Spock's quarters after shift and been fucked through the headboard.

By the time they got married, they'd averaged some form of sex twice a day - during a slow week. They had never so much as touched each other on duty - even Jim wasn't that unprofessional - but the minute they were off duty, all bets (and clothes, and health and safety restrictions) were off.

And then Spock had introduced him to _telepathic orgasms_.

That was _it_. Jim's life was officially _bliss_. Spock could give him an orgasm just by _holding his hand_. Fuck it, he could give him an orgasm _through his hair_. One wonderful, memorable night, Spock had been dreaming (a rare feat for him) and had accidentally brought Jim off _five times _without a single digit (or orifice, or anything else) touching his cock.

Jim was a very clichéd guy. Ninety percent of his mind revolved around getting his rocks off. And even he thought that was being too damned talented.

This relationship was going to murder Jim, his libido, and his circulatory system, and send them all packing to the happy hunting ground inside of ten years.

But _man_, what a way to go.


End file.
